Critical moments followed. Captain Sparhawk navigated the _Sea Gypsy_
among the rocks with marvelous seamanship. Time and again a shout of
dismay went up from the sailors as the yacht almost grazed some huge
black rock or scraped a coral reef. But the passage was negotiated with
safety, and finally the sea-battered yacht lay snug and safe in the lee
of the island and all hands drew a long breath of relief.
“Let go the anchor,” came the command, and the cable roared out of the
hawser holes with a savage shout, as if of joy, at the ship’s delivery.
“Where under the sun are we?” asked Mr. Jukes of Captain Sparhawk, as
soon as these maneuvers had been completed.
“I have no more idea than you, sir,” was the reply. “But it looks to me
as if this island must be one of the Pamatous.”
“One of the pearl islands?” asked the millionaire.
“The very same. But I cannot be sure. Islands are sown pretty thickly in
this part of the Pacific.”
“Are the Pamatou people cannibals?” asked Jack.
“I don’t think so,” said the captain, “but before I send a boat ashore I
am going to deal out arms to the landing party. We want to run no risks.
I shall also put a guard on the ship, for these savages are great
thieves and they might see a chance for some piratical tricks in our
dilemma.”
“The machine gun will come in handy then,” said Mr. Jukes.
“Yes, indeed, sir. I’ll give orders to have it mounted at once in a
conspicuous place so if any of the gentry ashore have any rascally
designs they can see we’re ready for them with a dose of cold lead.”
Jack, after some difficulty, secured permission for himself and Raynor
to go ashore with the landing party. Mr. Jukes, who remained on board,
was unwilling that they take the risk of a hostile attack, but at last
he yielded, and the boys, in high glee, buckled on cartridge belts and
selected rifles from the ship’s armory.
“Keep the rifles in the bottom of the boat,” ordered the captain, as
they shoved off, “and don’t use them unless you absolutely have to.”
Although the place where they lay was sheltered, the storm was still
howling and shrieking above the island and the sea ran rather high. The
inclement weather, no doubt, explained why no natives had so far been
seen.
A landing was successfully made in the surf, the men leaping from the
boat and dragging her ashore, waist-deep in water. Dense foliage, among
which could be seen the huge fronds of the banana, and broad-leaved
breadfruit trees grew almost down to the dazzlingly white beach. Further
back great palms, laden with cocoanuts, towered majestically above the
tropic growth.
“There seems to be no sign of a village here,” said the captain.
“Perhaps it is on the other side of the island,” suggested Jack.
“Well, we’ll tramp along the beach and see what we can find,” decided
the man in command of the “expedition.”
Four men were told off to guard the boat, with orders to fire three
shots if anything out of the way occurred. The party in search of the
village was to signal in the same way if anything untoward happened and
they needed help.
“Shall we carry the rifles?” asked Jack.
“Yes; but try to conceal them as much as possible,” counseled the
captain.
They set off along the beach, walking briskly, for the sand was firm and
hard. Looking back at the anchored yacht, they could see the glitter of
the machine-gun with a man stationed beside it. The gun was trained on
the shore ready for instant use against any possible attack. After
traversing a short distance they came in sight of what appeared to be a
pathway. The condition of it showed that it was much traveled and
probably it formed the high road to the village.
Captain Sparhawk decided to follow it. In single file the adventurers
advanced along the track which wound in and out, dodging trees and rocks
in a manner peculiar to most savage trails whose makers would rather go
round an obstacle than clear it out of the way. There was a gloomy sky
overhead and the wind boomed dolefully among the palms, making a noise
like sheets of rain falling as their big fan-like leaves rustled and
scraped against each other.
A hundred rods or so from the coast they found themselves in a ravine
which towered up steeply on each side of the track. This canyon appeared
to penetrate the centre of the island, the interior of which was hilly.
“I guess the village, if there is one, must be clear round the other
side of the island,” said Billy Raynor, between bites at a banana he had
picked from a bush at the side of the trail. Others of the party were
munching on oranges and a fruit the captain called a “custard apple,”
the latter a large, brown-colored “apple,” filled with a yellow paste
that looked and tasted like custard.
“There’s one thing certain, the high cost of living need never worry
these fellows,” remarked Jack.
“Not if they’re content to be vegetarians,” said Billy.
“They don’t need to be that,” said the captain, “the seas hereabouts
teem with fish—and look there!”
There was a rush and a clatter of falling stones just ahead of them as a
flock of goats, half-wild creatures, with wonderfully agile legs, leaped
up the sides of the canyon and then, at a safe height, stood gazing down
at the invaders of the island.
“These South Sea islanders prefer goat’s meat to anything except pork,”
said the captain; “in fact, the cannibals pay the doubtful compliment to
human flesh of calling it 'long pig.’”
This mention of cannibalism made the boys feel rather uncomfortable.
Although the captain reassured them and they knew that the horrible
practice of eating human flesh had all but died out in the South Seas,
except in some remote islands, they did not know but the one they were
exploring might prove to be one of the latter. It was just as their
minds were busy with these disquieting thoughts that Jack gave a sharp
exclamation and came to a halt.
The fronds of a banana tree had parted suddenly in front of the lad who
was in advance of the party.
Between the green leaves a hideous face, daubed with red and white
paint, suddenly glared out at the boy and then, as swiftly, vanished.